


Here comes the feeling you thought you'd forgotten

by bangyababy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangyababy/pseuds/bangyababy
Summary: So he eats his cake and sips his coffee, occasionally glancing up from his phone to Steve. If Steve sees him he’ll give him a little smile, which he tries to return, but judging from the look on Steve’s face, it’s probably not working.Still, Steve doesn’t stop smiling at him. It makes him feel almost…real.Today, he thinks, he can be James.Recently escaped from Hydra, the Winter Soldier stumbles into a bakery where he meets the worker, Steve. Being around Steve helps him remember things about his past, makes him feel a little more like a person, so he keeps coming back.





	Here comes the feeling you thought you'd forgotten

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blondie_Bluue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie_Bluue/gifts).



> This was written for the Shrinkyclinks Fest prompt #73 by blondie_bluue which read: "Barista/baker steve/recently deprogrammed ws Bucky. Bucky stables into a bakery/coffee shop. Steve, bleeding heart that he is, sets him up with coffee and a pastry. Of course there's a little doodle of Bucky on the cup. Bucky is all about this food, but also the little blonde with the kind eyes. He keeps going back, each time he gets another little doodle on his cup or pastry bag. Buck isn't quite sure what to make of it. Is it code? Is it trigger images instead of words? Whatever. It tastes good and the blonde does funny things his feels. Eventually one of the images is Steve kissing Bucky, big heart over the top."
> 
> This prompt realllllllyyyyy got away from me, but I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Thanks so much to tdcat for the wonderful beta! The title is from Vampire Weekend's Horchata.

The smell hits him before he sees it. He’s crouched in an alleyway mooching off some Wi-Fi trying to re-program a burner phone. The smell floats to him just as the phone begins to download the necessary files and applications he needs. The scent is strong, coffee and yeast, and it knocks him on his ass with the force of the memory it brings on. 

A woman, pregnant by the look of it, giving him a stern, but fond look after he’s dumped a bag a flour half on himself and half on the floor. Her hands are covered in the flour, too and there’s a little girl next to him, equally dusted in white. Then a man comes through the door and  _ yelps _ . He thinks they’re ghosts. They’re all laughing after that. It was hilarious, he remembers. He thought it was so funny he would throw a sheet over his head and pretend to be a ghost of a week after, trying to scare his pa.

That’s right. This is his family. Ma. Pa. Rebecca. Becca, most days. And he was Bucky. But James some days, too. 

He thinks about that little boy covered in flour and laughing, and he knows that was definitely  _ Bucky _ . 

But today? Right now crouched in this dingy alleyway, holding onto the wall so he won’t fall over because he just remembered some basic detail about his life? Most definitely  _ not _ Bucky. Probably not James either. 

His phone vibrates, alerting him that the battery is dying. He should charge it while his files download. He has the cord, just needs to plug it in. When he stands up a fresh wave of coffee smell hits him. 

He can’t remember drinking coffee, though he knows he must have. He moves toward the smell and sees a door with letters so faded it just reads “AR BAKERY AND COFFEE SHOP.”

Probably a good a place as any to charge his phone, he thinks, provided it’s not too crowded. 

He ducks out of the alleyway and circles around the front. A bell above the door announces his arrival, and he finds he likes that. He does a quick scan of the room. There are three other patrons in a back booth, teenagers, doing school work, or at least pretending to. There’s a clear path to the kitchen where he knows the back door is, so he can get out quickly if need be, and there’s only the one big front window so he’s got a nice line of vision. This is a good a place as any, he thinks, much better than the tactical nightmare that is the public library. 

“I’ll be right with you!” a deep voice calls from the back. 

He says nothing back. Instead, he looks up at the coffee selection. He knows his memory is shit, but it’s not possible that these words on the board are for coffee. Hell, he speaks at least a dozen languages, and this still doesn’t make any sense. 

“Hey, sorry about that. What can I get you?” The “you” is squeaked out, and he is instantly on alert. He looks down and sees a small man, maybe as tall as the woman in his memory, his ma. Blond hair, big blue eyes hidden behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, pink, pink lips that stand in stark contrast with his pale skin, and a crooked nose that has seen better days, but the overall effect is pleasing. But the look on his face, like the m— _ Pa _ in his memory. Like he’s seen a ghost. 

He almost turns on his heel then, ready to run and burn this place to the ground if necessary. But then the blond man shakes his head and smiles. “Sorry, I thought I knew you for a sec.” 

“Faces,” he mutters, ducking his head, hoping his hat obscures most of his. The blond man raises an eyebrow, clearly unable to understand what he is trying to say.  He clears his throat and tries again, though it is little more than a mumble. “Have one of those faces.” 

The blond gives him a curious look, and he looks down again. Still, he sees the blond shrug. “So, what can I get ya?” 

“Cappuccino,” he says because he knows what that one means. He glances at the display case and on an impulse that has him sweating, blurts, “And coffee cake. Please.” 

“Sure thing,” the blond man says, punching keys on the register. “That’ll be six forty-seven, please. For here or to go?” 

“Here.” He slides a ten across the counter and the blond picks it up without a word, then tries to hand him back his change. He shakes his head and nods at the tip jar. The money goes in with a  _ clink,  _ and the blond says, “Thanks. Have a seat, I’ll be right out with your order.” 

He sits against the solid wall between the booth and the window, partly so he has a clear view of any comings and goings and partly because that seat has an outlet. He plugs his phone and watches as it reboots. 

A few moments later the blond worker brings out a tray and now that the man is out in the open, he can see the name tag clipped to the apron pocket that reads “Steve.” Steve sets down the tray with a smile. “Here ya, go.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods, and Steve says, “Let me know if you need anything else.”  Steve doesn’t wait for his response, just turns and heads back to the cash register. 

He picks up the plate first but freezes when he sees the napkin. It’s been written on, no  _ drawn  _ on. He pulls the tray closer toward him, unwilling to pick up the napkin in case it’s been dosed with something, and looks at it. It’s a drawing of a man with long hair and instead of a face, there is a hat. The speech bubble above it reads, “Just one of those faces.” It’s him, he thinks. He glances at Steve, but Steve isn’t looking at him. Instead, his head is shoved into the pastry display case.

It’s a joke, he thinks. It can’t be a code. There’s no way Steve is one of…one of  _ them. _ Right? He looks back up, and this time Steve is looking at him and grinning. No, he thinks, definitely not a code. The side of his mouth quirks up as he looks at the drawing. Is that what he looks like? Just shoulders and a hat?

So much for being inconspicuous, he thinks. If anything he stands out more. He sticks his fork into the cake and takes a bite. He doesn’t remember eating much besides meal replacement bars and stale bread, but the cake is like nothing he’s ever tried before. Or maybe it is. He honestly can’t tell if this feeling is a memory or euphoria as he eats the cake. The coffee is good, and he has to remind himself to slow down. Even with the weeks he has been out on his own, his stomach can still get weird about food.

So he eats his cake and sips his coffee, occasionally glancing up from his phone to Steve. If Steve sees him he’ll give him a little smile, which he tries to return, but judging from the look on Steve’s face, it’s probably not working. 

Still, Steve doesn’t stop smiling at him. It makes him feel almost…real. 

Today, he thinks, he can be James. 

—

Steve hadn’t expected the guy to come back.

That first day, when Steve had come out of the back to greet the latest customer, he was sure he was going to need to visit his optometrist because clearly, his prescription was a dud. The man standing in front of the register was  _ gorgeous  _ and looked  _ exactly  _ like the man in the photo on the wall, just longer hair and more muscle. But that couldn’t be possible because the man in the photo was a decorated war hero who had died during World War II. 

Steve’s surprise must have shown on his face because it was obvious he had spooked the dude at the counter. The man looked like he was going to throw up or run or both when Steve had so indelicately gasped when he’d seen him. 

But then he’d ordered his coffee and cake and sat down to fiddle with his phone and ate his cake. It was a risk giving him the doodle, Steve knew, but the man looked like he could use some cheering up. Thankfully he didn’t seem to think the drawing was insulting but every once in a while he’d look up at Steve, and his face would twist into the sort of smile you gave people on the street when you accidentally made eye contact. When he’d finished charging his phone, the man stood up and brought his tray back to Steve. 

He hadn’t said anything, simply gave him a curt nod and left, just after Johnathon and Tila had come back from their break.  

Steve thought that was the end of that. 

But here he is, two days later, standing and staring at the coffee menu like it’s some type of cipher. He isn’t wearing a hat today, but his hair is still shielding most of his face. Even as he looks up at the board, Steve can tell he is trying to keep his head down as much as possible, which is a shame really, because this guy is  _ beautiful _ . 

Steve clears his throat a little when it looks like the guy is getting overwhelmed with the choices, which Steve can understand. For as small Barnes Bakery and Coffee Shop is, the selection is a little over the top.

“Have you tried our macchiatos? Most people seem to like those,” Steve suggests, hoping it will either help the man make a decision or at the very least get that pained look off of his face. 

“Yes,” the man says instantly, looking relieved. 

“Yes, you have or…?” Steve trails off. 

The man ducks his head, and Steve feels a little bad for him. Clearly, he is going through something, and judging by the way he holds himself, particularly in regard to his left arm, which has yet to leave his pocket, Steve is willing to bet money this guy is ex-military. He’s got that same faraway look in his eyes his friend Sam gets every once in a while. 

“I’ll have that, please.” The man’s voice is deep and clear, but he won’t look at Steve. “And the red velvet cake.” 

“Good choice,” Steve says, punching in the order. “For here or to go?” 

“Here,” the man says and look up at Steve a little, like he’s checking that’s okay. 

Steve gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Great. That’ll be seven twelve.” 

The man slides a ten across the counter, and just like last time, he refuses his change when Steve tries to hand it to him. “Thanks.” Steve plops the change into the tip jar. “I’ll be out with your order soon.” 

The guy turns and sits down in the same seat he had the last time. Steve sets to work on his order and when it’s plated, he grabs his pen and sketches out a coffee cup raising a barbell over his head and writes, “Strong coffee!” underneath. The guy had seemed to like his last drawing, so maybe he’d like this one too, Steve thinks. 

Steve brings over the tray and sees this time the man has brought a couple of books: two on history and one notebook. Steve doesn’t get a good look at the notebook, because the man covers it with his other books as soon as Steve approaches, but from what Steve can see it’s not all in English. Steve sets the tray down, and the man gives him a little nod and smile without looking up. 

Steve goes back to the register and makes himself look busy. He peeks up and sees the man smiling, a huge open smile that looks both right and out of place on his face, as he looks at Steve’s napkin doodle. It makes Steve's heart sink a little to know the man probably hasn’t laughed much recently, if that smile is anything to go by. 

Johnathon comes out of the back to talk to Steve and does a literal double take when he sees the guy. Steve quickly shakes his head, a movement that he knows the guy catches. Johnathon spends a few minutes talking to Steve about adding new things to the pastry cases. Steve tells him it doesn’t matter to him, as he’s not the one who has to come in at three am and bake them. 

Johnathon goes back to the kitchen to check on the loaves for the evening rush. The man works for a little over an hour, and then just like last time, brings his tray up when he finishes. He nods when he leaves, and Steve says goodbye. 

“Is that the same guy from a few days ago?” Johnathon asks when Steve brings the tray into the kitchen. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, dumping the dishes into the sink. 

“He looks just like that guy, you know, what’s his name? The owner's brother. It’s crazy.” 

Steve nods. “I thought the same thing, too.” 

—

It’s become a routine. James visits the bakery on days he knows Steve is working, which is usually Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday. James doesn’t go on Saturdays because that’s the day people mill about in the afternoon. He still doesn’t do so well with a lot of people in enclosed spaces.

Steve often works with another man, Johnathon, and a woman, Tila. Johnathon is usually in the back, and Tila is usually on her phone so she doesn’t pay James any mind. In fact, she usually leaves for her break when James comes in, so it’s just Steve out front for the next 45 minutes or so.

Each time, James leaves Barnes Bakery he feels a little more human. Steve is funny and smart and talented, and when he smiles at James, James wants to smile back.

James is learning about things he likes and doesn’t like, and Steve told him it was okay to say he doesn’t like something. He’s still working on that, but he likes trying new things Steve recommends even if they don’t always taste so good. James likes sitting in the cafe and learning about things he’s forgotten or never knew at all with Steve as company. It makes it easier when he sees traces of himself on the pages of a history book. James isn’t certain, but he thinks he must be old, much older than he looks. 

Sometimes Steve sees what James is reading, and they’ll talk about it. Well, usually Steve will talk about it and James will listen, but James is trying. Sometimes Steve will complain about a rude customer, and James will smile and nod at all the right parts and Steve will look grateful and give him a smile that’s a little private, like a secret just between them. James likes that.

He thinks Steve must like him, because he always draws a little doodle on James’s napkin or cup when he gets a coffee to go (they aren’t a code, he’s checked several times), and he never does that for any of the other customers except an older man who sometimes comes in and talks about art with Steve. James doesn’t know anything about art, but sometimes he’ll Google along with the conversation and save the little tidbits he learns for later in case he ever wants to talk about art with Steve. 

He doesn’t really know what it means that he wants to talk about art with Steve, other than he thinks that’ll make Steve happy and that seems like a good thing to do. But somehow he thinks he should be careful about how much he wants Steve to be happy. He has a feeling it could get Steve into trouble, and that’s the last thing he wants.

Sometimes they don’t talk at all, but James doesn’t mind that either. He likes knowing Steve is there. 

It’s easier to remember things when he’s at the bakery. He doesn’t know if that’s because of Steve, but he likes to think it is. Steve’s presence always seems to calm him. Lets him hear himself think.

James doesn’t remember a lot, but he knows this: Hydra must be stopped. But now that the intelligence community knows Hydra is still in operation he is faced with a few problems. The first is he has competition in trying to take them down, which makes his job exponentially harder as not everyone understands the right approach with them. 

Ever since Project Insight failed, the Black Widow has been trying to track him down. He remembers her, he thinks. He recognized her training as soon as the fight had started. Of course, when he trained her she must have been much younger. From what he’s seen the Iron-Man seems to think the “cut off one head and two more shall take its place” was just a fun thing they liked to say. He still hasn’t caught on to how big this thing is. James knows that Hydra must fall from the inside. He thinks the Widow knows that as well, which might be why she is so keen on finding him. 

Or to bring him in. 

James isn’t sure how he feels about that, either. He doesn’t actually know if he feels anything about it at all. He thinks if the situations were reversed, he’d stop at nothing until he was brought in or put down. He is sure that he has done some terrible, unspeakable things, and he is sure he is capable of even more. He’s more machine or monster than a man. But he doesn’t know if that’s always who he was. Did he join Hydra willingly? Did he believe in their cause? Was this who he always was? Something tells him no, but he can’t be sure. And that scares him. 

He wants to know who he was before all this, before he fell. He remembers falling. He remembers a train whistle howling in his ears, but he can’t remember if that’s real. He remembers a man standing over him, he always remembers that small man with the round glasses and eyes like a rat’s. It’s the one face he can’t forget. 

It’s the one face he wishes he could.

—

The man comes in at least twice a week, and since Steve doesn’t know the man’s name, he decides to call him Bucky in his head, after the guy on the wall he looks so much like. 

Bucky normally brought books and the same notebook with him, sometimes a laptop. Steve figured he must have gone back to school and but couldn’t figure out what he was studying. The array of books were always rather eclectic and often not in English. Still, Steve usually finds enough common ground in his study materials to strike up a conversation. Bucky’s a little shy and lets Steve do most of the talking. Steve was worried that he was bothering him, but the one time he had mentioned it to Bucky, Bucky had been vehement that he wasn’t. Afterward, he had ducked his head, and Steve could see a little blush forming on the top of his cheeks. It was adorable. 

Bucky’s visits have become something he looks forward to. He likes talking to Bucky, even if he doesn’t normally say much. He lets Steve bitch about entitled customers both at the bakery and for his graphic design business. From what little Bucky does say, Steve knows he’s intelligent, probably more intelligent than anyone Steve has ever met, and he’s funny in a dry type of a way. He’s gentle and sweet and handsome, and Steve only has a little crush, honestly, Tila. 

He thinks Bucky must have had a really strict diet up until recently, because he has seemingly never had any type of dessert, ever. Bucky always likes to try whatever is new that day, if they have something, and welcomes Steve’s suggestions. Steve finds that Bucky cannot stand black coffee, loves fruit-flavored desserts, and doesn’t do well with rich foods. He heard him throwing up mere minutes after eating a third of a slice of cheesecake. Steve had felt so bad for him. Bucky had looked so miserable and embarrassed when he practically ran from the bakery. Steve had been worried when Bucky hadn’t come back for a week, but then there he was looking sheepish on a Tuesday afternoon two weeks later. 

Steve hears the bell above the door ring and looks up to see Bucky walking in. He’s got his cap on today, so Steve thinks he must be feeling particularly out of sorts. He’s probably reading too much into it, but on days when Bucky wears his hat, he’s even more quiet than usual, like he needs the hat for protection.

“Hey,” Steve greets him. “How are you?” 

“Just fine,” Bucky murmurs and they both know it’s a lie, but Steve knows he’s trying. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Steve tells him, then gestures to the pastry case. “Especially seeing as we actually have some apple pie today. You want some?” 

Bucky eyes the pie in the case and gives Steve a little nod. Bucky’s had the pie a few times and Steve had quickly realized it was his favorite, so he’d started stashing a pie away when he got in to save for Bucky. 

“Coffee?” Steve asks then looks outside at the absolutely miserable weather they’re having, and before Bucky can answer he shakes his head. “Nah, hot chocolate, that’s what you need.” 

Bucky’s mouth doesn’t quite move, but his eyes light up, and Steve knows he’s got it right. Bucky pulls out a twenty, but Steve waves him off. 

“On me. Call it a regular reward.” 

Bucky scowls, looks Steve straight in the eye, and shoves the twenty into the tip jar. 

Steve laughs and tells him to go sit down. As Bucky sets himself up at his normal table, Steve is a little surprised to see he only pulls out a book today, a novel, in fact:  _ The Invisible Man _ by H.G. Wells. 

“I’m taking my break,” Steve says as he walks by Tila, who has been sitting at a table scrolling through Instagram. He puts the hot chocolate and the pie on a tray and brings it out to Bucky’s table.    
  


“Hope you don’t mind me joining you,” Steve says, sitting down and taking his own chocolate. Bucky shakes his head, and Steve pulls out a small sketch pad he keeps in his apron pocket. Bucky blinks then goes back to his book, every once in a while taking a bite of pie. 

It’s nice next to Bucky, listening to the patter of rain on the window,  and Steve gets lost in his sketch. He’s a little startled when Bucky asks, “What are you drawing?”

“The invisible man,” Steve replies. 

“But I can see him.”

Steve glances up at him. “So can I.” 

—

“What happened?” James demands when Steve turns to face him one Wednesday afternoon. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, just as Tila says, “He got into a fight.”

James frowns. “Why?” 

Steve glares at Tila and then James, too. He’s defiant, and James knows that he’s probably not going to like this story. “This guy—

“—who was twice your size and had a  _ friend _ —”

“ _ This asshole _ ,” Steve amends. “Was following a girl home. So I stepped in.”

“And got stepped on,” Johnathon supplies. 

“I had him on the ropes,” Steve pouts. Johnathon snorts, and Tila rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, because the girl is fine, and I’m fine.”

James rubs a hand down his face, unsure of what he’s feeling. He’s getting better at it mostly, but Steve is always a source of confusion. This news makes him want to laugh, and yell, and wrap Steve up in a blanket and put him in a high tower where no one can hurt him again. 

“And the other guy?” James asks, finally. 

“Filed a police report, but they just don’t know. At least they got a good sketch of him.” Steve’s grin looks painful on his bruised mouth, and he turns to show James the sketch of the guy on his phone. 

“You do that?” 

“Yup,” Steve says sounding a lot more proud than a guy with a busted lip and a black eye should. “Hung his posters all around the neighborhood so at least everyone will know this guy’s a creep.” 

James can’t help but smile at that. Steve is just so  _ good _ . 

“Hey, can I get a picture of that?” James asks. “I think I might know a guy who knows him.” 

“Sure,” Steve says, “I can just—okay, that works, too.” He says as James takes a photo of his phone with his own. 

James places his order and sits down. It doesn’t take long to find the guy from the photo —  Chase Thompson. James isn’t going to kill him, but if he’s a little more battered and bruised by the time the police find him outside the station, well who’s going to tell? 

—

Eventually, the only thing Bucky hasn’t tried is the bread. 

“So, this place is actually famous for its bread,” Steve explains one Thursday afternoon. “Same recipe since 1906.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky murmurs, looking at loaves of bread on the counter behind Steve. “Do you…do you make these?” 

Steve laughs. “Nah, that’s morning shift. I’m only here in the afternoons when it’s slow, thank God. If I was in charge of bread it’s probably be burnt.” 

“I think I can make bread,” Bucky says, sort of to himself.

“I mean, in theory, I think I can too. But in practice?” Steve laughs and shakes his head. “So, you wanna try a slice? On the house.” 

Bucky nods and Steve grabs one of the few remaining loaves and slices it. Bucky stays at the counter watching Steve cut.

When he’s done he turns and hands Bucky a napkin with a thick slice of white bread on it. “Here, ya go, Buck.”

Steve freezes, arm outstretched just as Bucky as takes the bread. Bucky freezes, too. His eyes go wide and panicked as he looks up from the counter at Steve. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, it just slipped out,” Steve tries to explain, more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life.

Bucky’s face morphs. The panic is still evident, but now there’s a deeper fear, and anger. Bucky’s left arm reaches out and grabs Steve by the shoulder in an almost inhuman grip. 

“Let go!” Steve shouts and tries to wriggle free, but Bucky tightens his grip even more. Steve’s mind races as he wonders how he’s going to get out of this. Bucky is  _ strong, _ and Johnathon and Tila are on break. It’s just him and Bucky in the shop. They don’t even have cameras in here. Bucky could kill him, and no one would ever find his body. 

“What did you call me?” 

“Bucky,” Steve squeaks out. He can feel the skin under Bucky’s hand starting to smart, and he wonders how much harder Bucky would have to squeeze to break his bones. Probably not much. “I-I didn’t know your name, but you look like that guy on the wall.” Steve jerks his head towards a wall half hidden by stacks of bread crates 

Bucky’s eyes flick to the wall, but he doesn’t let go of Steve. Instead, he holds on and drags him down the counter. When they reach the wall, Bucky hauls him over the counter, Steve kicking and screaming the entire way. 

“Where?” Bucky demands, pointing at the wall, eyes never leaving Steve. 

Steve glares at him. He knows that Bucky definitely has the upper hand here, but he’ll be damned if he goes quietly. “It’s behind the pallets,” he spits. 

Bucky pulls the pallets away from the wall with a lot more force than necessary. The pallets go crashing down, and Steve flinches at the noise. 

“Where?” Bucky growls again.

Steve looks at the mess on the ground then back up to Bucky. “Was that necessary?” 

But he still turns balefully to the wall and points his finger to Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. Steve had learned about Sergeant Barnes in school and knows exactly what the blurb about him on the wall says, so he watches as Bucky reads the information. 

There’s the smallest change in Bucky’s face, and he lets go of Steve just as suddenly as he had grabbed him, backing away with his arms outstretched. For a moment Steve is worried he is going to be sick. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve tries, taking a minuscule step forward. 

The man’s eyes dart from the wall of history and then back to Steve. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and then bolts. 

Steve stares at the wall for a long time, but no matter how long he looks at it he can’t figure out what has just happened. 

—

James doesn’t run all the way back to his safe house, no matter how much he wants to. Running will draw attention, and he can’t afford for anyone to give him a second look, not now. As soon as he is back in the apartment he pulls out his computer and sits down at the wobbly folding table. He plugs the ethernet cable into the computer, not willing to take any chances with a Wi-Fi network, even though he knows his next search will be mildly innocuous, he feels that this is  _ something _ . 

He goes through the protocols of secure his connection and then, only then does he open the search engine and type in “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” 

The first page is a Wikipedia article. 

_ Wikipedia _ . 

He almost wants to laugh, because how could the answer he’d been searching for this whole time be so easily accessible? Anyone could find it without even looking for it. He clicks the link and the same photo from the bakery comes up. The article is a lot longer than he expected. 

He reads:

_ Sergeant James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes (March 10th, 1917- January 1945) was an American soldier in the 107th Infantry Regiment and a decorated sniper during World War II. Barnes was conscripted and assigned to the 107th in 1942. Soon after he landed in Europe he was captured along with the majority of the 107th. He was held as a Prisoner of War by the Nazi organization Hydra in a facility in Azzano before it was liberated in 1943. It is suspected that he underwent extreme psychological torture, as well as medical experimentation, though he never confirmed the extent of this. During a mission to capture Hydra scientist Armin Zola, Barnes fell from a train into the Danube River. His body was never found.  _

He sits back and stares at the screen. Captured. Tortured. Experimented on. The words blend together until they don’t mean anything and he can’t even see them anymore, and he realizes he’s crying. He doesn’t know why he’s crying, he can’t even remember the last time he had. 

But he thinks he is relieved. He didn’t choose to be  _ this _ . He wasn’t supposed to be this. He was made to be this. It wasn’t  _ him _ . 

He keeps reading. 

_ James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes was born on March 10th, 1917 to George and Winnifred Barnes in Shelbyville, Indiana. He was the eldest of four. Soon after he was born his family moved to Brooklyn where his parents opened a small bakery based on his mother's family recipe. The bakery,  _ _ Barnes Bakery _ _ in Brooklyn, is still in operation today. Barnes is described as being outgoing and charming, an athletic overachiever, who excelled in the classroom, particularly in math and sciences, and a kind man who always stood up to bullies.  _

_ Barnes was part of a select group of soldiers known as the Howling Commandos, that focused on fighting Hydra, rather than Hitler’s Nazis. The group was founded by Margaret “Peggy” Carter and also included Howard Stark. It was rumored that Barnes underwent a controversial operation in preparation for Allied forces to genetically engineer an army of super soldiers. It is unclear if this operation was successful, but former Howling Commando James “Jim” Morita is quoted as saying Barnes could crack a skull with a single punch. Other Commando members recalled that Barnes never seemed to tire. He was faster and stronger than any of them put together.  _

_ It is suspected that these are just war tales… _

He keeps reading. He reads the whole thing three times, and then just to be sure it wasn’t lying he pulls up  ten more articles about himself. 

But the conclusions are all the same. 

He was  _ good _ . 

He was a goddamn fucking good man. 

And now? Now he’s barely even a man. He does laugh then, a hollowed out harshness that hurts his own ears. 

It makes sense now, he thinks. Why the bakery seemed to calm him, why he felt like he remembered more there, could think clearer. How many times had he looked at the name? Everything he needed to know was right there in front of him in gold lettering. “BARNES BAKERY AND COFFEE SHOP.” If had just done his fucking homework, he could have figured this out so long ago. But he had liked Steve and if it did turn out that the bakery was really Hydra…well, he had wanted to find out the hard way. 

He learns about his family, about the bakery. His sister Becca is still alive, in her early nineties, but the younger two were both gone. He’s got more nephews and nieces and grand-nieces and nephews than he can count. He has a family. 

Suddenly the only thing he wants to do is to tell Steve. 

In his haste, he’s sloppy. He doesn’t see the figure following him until it’s too late. He’s just across the street from Barnes Bakery and Coffee Shop, he can see Steve’s leaning over the counter, drawing something. But he knows he’s been caught, and he doesn’t want to risk Steve looking up and seeing him. So he turns, sees the redhead first, shows her he won’t fight, but that he doesn’t want to do this here. She gets the message and he sees her lips move to relay it. Once he’s turned the corner she’s on him, and the Iron Man is there, as well as what seems like every alphabet agency they could find, all strolling about like this a normal day. There are no sirens, no shouting, no one to witness. He gets in the black SUV without them even having to cuff him. They do anyway. He can’t say he blames them. 

He sighs as the car passes the bakery. He never did get to try that bread. 

—

Steve is mindlessly scrolling through Facebook when he sees it. A news clip from CNN about the trial for one Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, AKA the Winter Soldier beginning today. 

There’s no one in the shop at this time of day so, he opens it and listens as Christine Amanpour explains the sudden and shocking twists of events.

“ _Sergeant Barnes, also known as the Fist of Hydra and The Winter Soldier,_ _will be put on trial today before a grand jury to answer for 70 years’ worth of war crimes and what will likely be the strangest and most difficult case ever tried. The news of the trial broke only yesterday, as the world hadn’t even known of the existence of Sergeant Barnes until the District Court for the District of Columbia announced the trial, citing that due to the nature of the case, they could not risk a biased jury._

_ Most people will recognize the name Sergeant Barnes, a decorated war hero, who was born in 1917 and fought in World War II. He was declared killed in action in 1945 when he fell from a train during a fight between Hydra and the Allied forces group known as the Howling Commandos. However, it has now come to light that Barnes did not die in the fall and instead was captured by Hydra scientists. He was subjected to torture both physical and mental, and periodically cryogenically frozen over the last 70 years, only to be woken up to carry out orders. Barnes is also a genetically enhanced individual, though it is unclear if that was done under Hydra or from his time working with Dr. Abraham Erskine and Howard Stark during World War II.  _

_ Perhaps the biggest twist of all is that the trial is at the behest of Sergeant Barnes himself. The United States Government was prepared to turn the matter over to a military tribunal, but Sergeant Barnes insisted that he be tried to the full extent of the law. He was quoted as saying, “Maybe it wasn’t me that did those things. But I did them.”  _

_ Among the numerous accusations of espionage and assassinations, one in particular sticks out—The murder of Howard and Maria Stark. Tony Stark, the Iron Man, had this to say when he was asked about it this morning.” _

The video switched to a shot of Tony Stark walking up what Steve presumed to be the courthouse steps, people shouting questions, cameras flashing and mics being shoved in his face. 

“ _ What do you mean how do I feel about the 100-year-old brainwashed World War II vet being forced to kill his friend who just happened to be my father with my mother as collateral damage? How do you think I feel?”  _

The video goes on the explain the charges against Bucky in more detail, as well as a timeline and likely outcomes. It ends with a shot of Bucky being led into the courtroom, wearing a dull beige jumpsuit, hands cuffed in front of him, with his head hung low. Steve finally realizes why Bucky never seemed to use his left arm—it was made of metal. Did Hydra do that to him, too? Before he can do anything he feels bile coming up his throat. He manages to make it to the trash can and no farther. 

His head is spinning as he throws up. Bucky  _ really is  _ Bucky. He was tortured and experimented on and all of the history he was trying to learn makes sense, every single flinch, every hunted and haunted look, every little smile of delight, shy like he knew he was doing something he shouldn’t. It all made sense, and all Steve can think about is how Bucky  _ asked  _ to be tried. 

He’s dry heaving now, tears freely streaming down his face. When he pulls his face back from the trash can he sees Bucky’s handsome face on the wall out of the corner of his eye. Johnathon and Tila come back from break and find him face down in the trash can, crying, and he can’t explain to them what’s happened. He gestures uselessly to his phone that has been looping through various related videos sitting on the counter. 

“It  _ is _ him,” Johnathon breathes, watching the video. 

“Oh, Steve,” Tila comes over and gathers him up and he sobs uselessly into her shoulder.

There’s a ringing of a bell at the door and they all look up to see the owner, Rebecca Barnes-Proctor, shuffling in escorted by her grandson Henry, and the Black Widow. Steve swipes at his face, but there is no hiding the fact that he’s been crying.  

“What the fuck?” Johnathon mutters, and Henry gives him a sharp look. 

“Excuse you?”

“Hush, Henry,” Rebecca says pulling away from her grandson and heading straight for Steve, moving much faster than any 96-year-old had a right to. “You know him, don’t you? You talked to him.”

Steve nods. “I mean, he came in a lot.”

“He would only talk to Steve,” Tila cuts in. 

“Only came in when Steve was working,” Johnathon adds on.

“So, you know him,” she repeats, and she looks so hopeful that Steve’s eyes well up with tears again. 

“Yes, I know him.” 

She opens her mouth to say something, but then seems overcome by emotion and closes it again. 

“Grandma,” Henry starts, but she waves him off. 

“This young woman,” Rebecca says, gesturing to the Black Widow, “She says Bucky—” she chokes on the name but presses on, “She says Bucky wanted to come see you when they caught up with him. She says you’re important to him. She says you helped him remember.” 

Steve glances at the Black Widow, but she is watching the exchange with a passive expression on her face, and he’s unsure what to make of all this. 

Rebecca continues, “I wanted to thank you.” 

Steve shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut lest he start crying again. “You don’t need to thank me, not for that,” he tells her. “Bucky is—Bucky is important to me, too.”

And it’s true. Somewhere along the line Bucky had carved out a little place in Steve’s heart and set up camp, just waiting for Steve to figure it out. And now that he has it’s too late. 

The hug is unexpected and Steve can’t stop his tears now and he can feel Rebecca shaking beneath his arms. Henry looks confused and pained, and Steve can’t blame him, because here he is watching his grandmother hug and cry with a virtual stranger over her long-lost brother who turned out to be a brainwashed assassin. It’s a little hard to take in.

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asks when they pull away. “Can I testify or something?” 

“No.” It’s the first time he hears the Widow speak and even with that one word, he gets why she’s an Avenger. “He asked that you didn’t.”

“He did?” 

“Yes. He said he doesn’t want you mixed up in this any more than you already are.” 

Steve looks at her a moment. “You don’t agree with him.” 

“I don’t,” she admits, “but I understand it.” 

“But I can help,” Steve insists. “I can tell them that he’s not like that, not really.” 

The Widow smiles then, small, and if Steve had blinked he would have missed it. 

“He said you’d say something like that,” Rebecca says. 

Steve turns back to Rebecca. “You spoke to him?” 

She nods. “Not for long. They wouldn’t let him. But I got to—” she chokes again, and Steve doesn’t need her to finish.

She gathers herself up again and when she speaks it’s only a little watery. “We’re going to close down the bakery.” 

“You are?” Johnathon asks. 

“Not forever,” Henry tells him. “Just for a few days.”

“I’m shooting an interview,” Rebecca informs them. “Bucky said he didn’t want me to testify, but he didn’t say anything about interviews.” There’s a little glint in her that Steve has seen once or twice on Bucky’s face and he can’t help but laugh, and Rebecca joins in while the rest of them look on as if they’ve both lost their minds. Maybe they have. 

“Would you like to be a part of the interview?” she asks. “I just want the world to know he’s a good person. Nothing like what those Hydra bastards turned him into.” 

Steve thinks about it for a moment. He looks to the Black Widow and he thinks he sees her nod. 

“Yes, I would.”

—

In the six months since the interview aired there has been such an uptick in business at the bakery that Henry and his daughter have had to start working in the afternoon. Normally, Henry’s brother and two assistants bake the morning batches, and Johnathon bakes a few in the afternoon. But now they have a steady stream of people coming in and the need to keep up with the demand. Sometimes they’re there for the bread and pastries, sometimes they’re there to show support. Sometimes they’re less than friendly. 

The trial is still dragging on, and as it does more and more horrors about Hydra come to light, so the people that come in to heckle Steve and the family are few and far between. But after every big break in the case, there is always some asshole who comes in. Henry has started telling Steve not to bother coming in for a few days when that happens. Steve would be grateful, but he needs the money. He doesn’t want to quit the bakery and find a new job, but it’s hard to go there now. Even when people aren’t being jerks. 

He hates to look up and see someone sitting in Bucky’s spot. Sometimes he wishes he could take the table out altogether, but that would probably make it more real that Bucky isn’t here. 

—

Ten months after Bucky was brought in, the trial ends. Steve goes over to Rebecca’s house and the two of them watch the verdict being read on live television. Rebecca hasn’t asked any of her other family to watch with them, and Steve feels his heart clench in his chest because he realizes why. This verdict changes nothing for them. If Bucky is convicted or not, the most it means for the rest of the family is a change in inheritance. 

On the TV, Bucky stands up, his hair pulled away from his face, eyes downcast. 

Rebecca seizes his hand when the juror stands up and reads their verdict. 

_ Not guilty. _

_ Not guilty. _

_ Not guilty. _

_ Not guilty. _

_ Not guilty. _

_ Not guilty. _

_ Not guilty. _

All seven charges,  _ not guilty.  _ The words ring through Steve’s ears as clearly as if he were in the room.

Rebecca sags into him on the couch, and they both cry unashamed, happy tears. 

“Do you think I can see him now?” she asks, sounding so uncharacteristically small and unsure that Steve remembers that this woman is now 97 years old. “Do you think he’ll want to see me?” 

“Of course,” Steve tells her, even if he has no idea. 

“I’m not who he remembers, I’m so old now…”

“So is he,” Steve assures her. “But he’s still your brother, and you’re still his sister. Nothing is going to change that.” 

The way she hugs him, gathering him up like he’s seven instead of twenty-seven, makes him miss his mom in a way he hasn’t in a long time. “Thank you, Steve. You’re a good one.” 

“Will you come with me to see him?” she asks later when Steve is leaving. 

He shakes his head. “I would love to see him, and I’d love to be there with you, but I think it should be just the two of you.” 

She sighs, like she knew it was coming. “I suppose you’re right. I’m just nervous.”

He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I know. I bet he is, too.” 

“He’d better be,” she grumbles. “It’s only been seventy goddamn years.”

Steve laughs, relieved to see her a bit more herself.  He says good night and heads home.

Three days later he sees the front page of the  _ New York Times _ . Bucky is hugging Rebecca to him, swinging his sister around like she’s a little girl, and Steve can see the youth in both their faces and it makes his heart swell. 

He buys the paper and cuts out the photo and sticks it on the bakery wall the next day. 

—

It’s been well over a year since Bucky (and it’s Bucky now — maybe it wasn’t for a while there, but he’ll always be Bucky) has seen Steve. After the trial had ended, Bucky had opted to join the Avengers. He knew it would never bring back all the lives he took, but trying to help people was something, wasn’t it? 

He owes most of his recovery to the Princess of Wakanda. She’d been contacted as an expert witness before the trial began, to evaluate his mental state and the health of his brain. Thanks to her he’s been able to take the pieces of his life and put them back together in a picture that sort of makes sense. He's still missing a few pieces, but he can make out the image. He’s not sure he’ll ever be that charming guy with the easy smile Becca remembers from before the war, but he can see parts of himself, some days. He’s getting there. 

But between training and missions and therapy appointment after therapy appointment, and letting Shuri and Stark poke at his arm, he hasn’t really found the time or the courage to go see Steve

Becca says he’s full of shit. 

Maybe she’s right. 

She’s nagged him about it almost constantly. Of course, she and Steve had gotten along like a house on fire. She tells him how Steve is, is sure to tell Bucky when Steve is visiting her or vice-versa, his schedule at the bakery, but each time he finds some excuse not to go. 

He  _ wants  _ to see Steve. But he’s not sure he’s ready. He’s not sure Steve wants to see him, no matter what Becca says. He doesn’t know what he would say, not that he said much to begin with. He’s pretty certain he’s overthinking it, that the longer he waits, the harder it will be. Even Natasha, the Black Widow, is in contact with Steve. She often comes back to the Tower smelling like coffee and holding a paper bag full of pastries. She says she and Steve are  _ friends _ . 

But he and Steve were friends weren’t they? Are friends? Becca says so. She says Steve cares about him, and she’s been very unsubtle about the nature of that affection. Bucky doesn’t know if he’s ready for that. But, he wants to try, he thinks. 

—

The first week of December Bucky takes a deep breath, adjusts his cap, and walks into the bakery. It’s more crowded than it used to be at this time and, Bucky hunkers down a little so as to not draw attention to himself. 

“Just a moment,” Steve calls without looking up from where he’s rearranging something under the counter. Bucky hums.

“Sorry, what can I get…” Bucky watches the words die on his lips. Steve is looking up at him with shock, and then it slides off of his face. He looks good, Bucky thinks, healthy and not like he’s recently been in a back alley brawl — not that it’s always easy to tell that with Steve. 

Bucky gathers his courage. He wants to tell Steve he’s missed him and to thank him for everything, especially for taking care of Becca. He wants to tell him that he’s thought about him every day, that’s he’s sorry for waiting, that he hopes Steve isn’t mad, that he wants to be friends, that he  _ wants _ . Instead, he says, “I heard the bread here is really good.” 

He sees Steve deflate as he nods, and Bucky would do anything if he could rewind the last 35 seconds. He can see Steve trying to keep his face blank, but his jaw is clenching and his eyes are hard, and he won’t look at Bucky. “It is. Same recipe since 1906. You want a loaf?” 

“Please, and horchata.” Bucky wills Steve to look at him, just to look at him, so Bucky can fix this, but Steve keeps his eyes firmly on the register. 

“That’ll be seven sixty-five,” Steve says, punching in the numbers, and holding out his hand for the money. 

Bucky sighs and pulls out a ten dollar bill, and when he places it in Steve’s palm he catches his hand for a moment. Steve finally looks up at him. “I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers. “I’m sorry I waited so long.” 

Steve looks a little shocked, and it’s then that Bucky realizes he’s used his metal hand. Bucky pulls away, leaving Steve’s hand hovering with the money. “For here or to go?” 

Bucky hangs his head. “To go.” 

Steve turns and Bucky mentally curses himself for waiting this long. Now he’s lost his chance, and Steve doesn’t want anything to do with him and why would he? Bucky’s just some semi-stable hundred-year-old former Nazi assassin. He’s got no business with someone like Steve. He keeps his head low as he runs over the familiar path of wallowing and regret when he hears someone clear their throat. 

“Thanks,” Bucky murmurs, snatching the bread and the drink off of the counter and fully preparing to hightail it out of there. But then he sees it, the little doodle in black Sharpie half hidden under his fingers. Bucky turns the cup and he sees a small picture of what he thinks is himself, kissing Steve, a heart over the top. 

Bucky risks a glance up, and Steve is grinning up at him, a little teasing. 

“You mean it?” Bucky breathes. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies. 

“Can I?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bucky sets the drink and the bread down as Steve leans over the counter to meet him halfway, and Bucky kisses him, tries to tell him all those things he wasn’t brave enough to say earlier, and Steve must get it because he kisses him back, his hand coming up to Bucky’s shoulder and pulling him closer. Bucky can’t recall ever feeling like this, and he thinks he must never have because he can’t imagine ever forgetting this. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on [tumblr](http://bangyababy.tumblr.com)


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